What Lies Ahead
by TimeAsunderQ
Summary: Greg-Angst set during and after "Inside the Box" Greg is hurting, who will help?


Author's Note: My third CSI fic and my first songfic. This is Greg-Angst and takes place during and after **Inside the Box**. The song used is "Time and Time Again" by Chronic Future. I don't own that song, nor do I own CSI or any of its characters. Lyrics are in italics and thoughts are in parentheses. I have no beta, so if anyone wants to make some input, feel free to e-mail me.

What Lies Ahead

_Put yourself, through the scariest of scenarios_

_Enter experiences that you normally wouldn't dare to go..._

Day after day he woke up in a cold sweat, rolling himself into a cocoon made of man and sheets. There he would lie staring at the ceiling until the terror faded and his heart rate fell to normal. Day after day.

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_It's all for the character and the arrogant afterglow_

_Of knowing it's appearance according to your patterns of growth _

Greg pulled himself together each evening, washing his face and clenching his fists until they stopped shaking (for the moment). Driving to the lab he shoved down the terror until it just sat limply in his stomach. When his friends (what friends? he asks himself) stopped by he would smile and joke with them, willing them to leave him alone. When Grissom stopped by, the observant older man noticed him shaking.

"Greg... Your hands are shaking."

Swallowing quickly he grasped the results more firmly. "No they're not," was his calm reply.

_And what your parents handed down to you to handle _

_Make sure you carry torches when their putting out your candles _

Grissom took the paper from him and evenly demanded "Hold your hands out."

The young man slowly complied. As his supervisor inspected his shaky hands he confessed only to the obvious physical signs of his trauma (he doesn't need to know everything does he?) "Uh... they've been shaking ever since..." A pointed look at the DNA lab is all it takes. "I can't really make it stop..."

The concerned look in Grissom's eyes was enough to make Greg look away. "Is it affecting your work?"

Laughingly he replies "Well, if I was a bomb expert, maybe..." Another look confirmed that Grissom wouldn't be swayed. "No, I ... I think I have it under control."

Grissom took a deep breath and opened himself just a bit. "It'll stop. If you need me, I'll be around."

After the older man walked away Greg found himself wondering if Grissom really did care. (I have to stand fast, I can't back down. I have to stay strong. For him. For Grissom). Greg refocused on his work and slowly the tremors ceased.

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_Predictions can be unkind, but unwind them still _

_Don't erase the part of you that's responsible for your will _

Night after night he pushed on, willing himself to swallow the pills that calmed him down. He never took Grissom up on his offer for help. (It'll stop he said. He promised...).

It never stopped.

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_Time and time again we fall into the depths of who we are but you can't keep runnin away from what you're trying to find_

One night, weeks later, Sara dropped by the lab.

"Your DNA sample came back; negative match to Simon Trudale but he shares seven alleles." Greg dangled the results out in front of him, waving them enticingly.

Sara pulled a breath in through her teeth, hissing as she snatched the paper from him. "Brother. So it was Jeffrey Trudale. His alibi seemed pretty strong but... who can ever tell," she shrugged.

There was a long pause as Sara drifted off into her own thoughts. Greg shifted away, moving back to his work but her voice stopped him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. "Do you ever... you know... think of that day?"

When Greg looked up Sara was cradling her hand in her lap. He wanted to say no. (Just... tell her no, she leaves, no questions asked. Why bother?) But instead what came out of his mouth was "Of course. All the time." (Dammit. She just looks so cold, so alone. I wonder if Grissom even bothered to tell her the same thing he told me... Nah, probably not. Selfish cowardly bastard.)

She plowed on with the tone of someone confessing to a murder. "I just can't seem to forget about it Greg. It's like every time I walk past that window, it shatters all over again. I keep seeing you—" Her breath hitched and she stopped for a moment, swallowing convulsively. "I keep seeing you laying there so helpless." Her head and voice both dropped. "I should have helped you."

That startled Greg out of his reverie and he spun to look at the despondent CSI. "Sara? You thought you could help me? I had just been blown straight through a glass window, felt the flames licking my ass and you seriously thought you could help me? No girl, the EMTs had to scrape me off the floor. There was nothing you could have done." He smashed his hands down on the table less to make his point and more to keep attention away from them trembling.

Sara looked up and smiled. "Flames licking your ass huh?"

Greg's old mischievous grin returned. "Yeah, I finally got some action. Real hot action. Too bad it was over so quick!"

Taking one last deep breath, Sara stood up and approached Greg from behind. Putting her hands on his shoulders she leaned over to look at his face. "Greg? Thanks. Thanks for this. You really, ummm... Well Griss wasn't the best person to..."

He laid his hands over hers, noting that they were still. "S'ok Sara. I definitely understand."

She gently pulled her hands from his and walked to the door, hanging on the doorframe like normal. The look on Sara's face was unreadable to Greg when they locked eyes once again. "Yeah. You do understand Greg. You're good at understanding...."

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_Well I've seen you and those things you do _

_And the way you hide that shadow can't be good for you _

_Your dark defines your light _

Each day pulled at him a little more. Greg took the pills like a good little boy, but they changed him bit by bit.

(Who am I where am I who am I where am I....?) he thought as he fell in and out of consciousness.

At work his step lost its bounce. Others thought he was finally calming down, maturing a bit. They didn't realize that his "calm" state was a reversion back to an inert form. Inert Greg, full of dark matter, dark thoughts. The shine in the corners of his eyes became duller each week until his brown eyes were bottomless. What was once so full of energy and hope now was empty and lifeless.

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_There's some utterly damaged particles to deal with _

_And if I stutter I'm sorry but its hard to feel swift _

5 months after the explosion, Grissom stopped by again to check on him.

"How are you Greg? I haven't seen you around in the break room much lately."

"Oh! Oh. I'm f...fine."

He could feel the blue eyes riveted to the side of his head. "Greg. You're stuttering."

The lab rat looked down at his lap and mumbled "Sorry."

To his great surprise, Grissom clasped his shoulder and squeezed briefly. "Don't apologize Greg. Hold out your hand."

A thin hand snaked out of his pocket and hung, trembling in midair, waiting for something to be transferred. Nothing was handed to him though. Grissom grasped his wrist firmly and turned his hand over slowly. (Shit, he's just examining me again...)

"Look... Grissom... I'm getting better you know, you don't have to... worry about this."

When the shock in Grissom's eyes suddenly changed to unwavering concern, Greg nearly broke down, nearly confessed his pain and anguish. "Yes I do Greg. You're nightshift. You're my responsibility." He sighed lightly. "When I said it would stop, I didn't mean after multiple months. You should... You need help."

To his own surprise, Greg felt a rage welling up within, bubbling almost to the point of bursting out of him. He wrenched his wrist out of Grissom's hands. When he spoke next it was with deadly calm. The voice he heard was not his own. "It's my problem, I'm dealing with it. End of discussion." (What is this? What is this calm? What am I?)

Greg rolled his chair away and started work, ignoring all further efforts from his supervisor. Eventually, Grissom left. Unfortunately for him though, that rage, the calm, and that other voice never did.

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_When stuck in my stomach is a cannon ball anchor to lift _

_I've been pushing it down pretending it doesn't exist _

Several days passed and Greg still thought upon what Grissom suggested. Maybe getting psychiatric help wouldn't be such a bad thing. He knew on some level that over half of all Americans were getting "help" of one form or another, why shouldn't he? Another part of him rebelled though, throwing him further into turmoil.

(You're so stupid! So worthless you can't even get over something as stupid as an explosion. Shit blew up! Big deal, you're still alive, it's not like you're maimed or anything. Why can't you get over this you idiot? You're so freaking hopeless...)

His fights with other people quickly became internalized fights with himself. Greg played out scenarios left and right. All of them ended in devastation. At the end of the day he would forget about the arguments and convince himself that Grissom was wrong. He didn't need help. He was juuuuuuuuust fine.

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_Well this is what happens when you're pissed about being pissed _

_You dig yourself so deep you resist just to resist _

Exactly 5 months 2 weeks and 4 days after the lab explosion, Greg Sanders called in sick.

The next day, he called in sick again.

Day three, with no sign of Greg, Grissom began to panic. Warning bells went off in his head, set off by the fact that he couldn't seem to contact the boy. The lab was falling behind with someone from dayshift running the show at a snail's pace. Grissom found it amazing that day solved any crimes considering how fast the lab woman was moving.

Personally, he missed Greg but never showed it when his CSIs started asking questions about their lab rat's whereabouts. He hid his concern as well, opting for the safest, emotionless route.

When 7 AM rolled around, Grissom found himself looking up Greg's address in his Rolodex. The Tahoe effortlessly steered itself to its destination, pulling into the parking pad at 7:25 AM precisely. It was only then that Grissom began to wonder about his motives.

Summoning willpower, the older man walked up the stairs and knocked on Greg's door. No answer. He knocked again, this time louder, calling out "Greg? It's me, Grissom. Open up. I'd... like to talk to you."

Still no answer. Just inside the door, he heard an anguished sob. He could have sworn he heard his name.

Grissom furiously searched for a spare key underneath everything on the landing. It was unnecessary though, because just as he straightened up the deadbolt opened with a sharp click. Stifling a sigh of relief, Grissom swung open the door and gasped. Curled up on the right hand wall was a terrified looking Greg. Holding a knife. Both of his hands were tight around the base of the knife, holding onto it like his last lifeline.

"Grissom... You came? Why are you here?"

Agonizingly slowly Grissom lowered himself to the floor beside Greg, speaking in a placating tone. "Greg. Listen to me. I want you to slowly put down the knife." Greg shook his head violently side to side.

"No Griss. This is my knife. It's all I've got. It-"his breath hitched and his face contorted with the effort not to cry "it makes me feel better. I've-"Greg's face went blank, unfeeling and cold "I've got to bleed now..."

Grissom's heart leapt up in his throat and he reached out, lightly touching the young man's forearms. "NO! Greg! Listen to me. I will not let you hurt yourself Greg. I know you need help and it's obvious that you don't trust anyone else but please... please Greg, trust me."

(Trust you? How can I trust you? I've dug a hole so deep Griss... Can you find me? I'm so tired of being angry... So tired of being tired...)

None of his internal monologue came out verbally. All he said in reply was a weak affirmation of his depression. Greg tipped his head back to look into Grissom's eyes. "I hate myself and I want to die."

The air went out of Grissom explosively, like a popped balloon. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears and he began whispering. "No Greg, no. You can't hate yourself. How can you hate such a wonderful person? How can you hate someone we all need so much. How could we ever solve a case without you? No Greg, life is too short for you to die now. Life is too quiet without your music." Grissom reached forward to shake him a bit, trying to keep his attention on himself instead of the knife. "If you could just tell me why... tell me why you hate yourself. Tell me what you think you have done that is so reprehensible that you deserve to die. I dare you."

Greg's head lolled to the side and those hollow eyes found the wise eyes of his friend. "I am weak. I need other people. I can't stop the shaking. I can't stop. I can't sleep. I... just want to sleep forever. Is that so much to ask?" He whimpered as his question trailed off quietly.

Two tears fell from Grissom's eyes. "Yes Greg, that is too much to ask. Sleep is highly overrated, just ask Sara. Give me the knife and let's talk. I'll bet my life that you'll get the best sleep you've had in months after we're done." Tense silence ensued as Greg weighed his options.

(Do I want to die? Could I just sleep? Do you know me Grissom, do? sob Let go of me! I DON'T WANT TO DIE.)

In a flash Greg threw down the knife, blade towards the door, and slid forward to burrow his face into Grissom's shoulder. Stiff fingers dug into Grissom's back, groping blindly for something solid to hold onto.

Grissom's low voice came from beside his right ear, murmuring comforting words. "It's okay Greg... I've got you. Hold onto me, I'm not going anywhere. Let it all out, then we'll talk."

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_And there's no way to get back experiences you missed _

_So start right now today and risk furiousness for bliss _

The tears fell freely then, coming out in inarticulate gasps, cries, and sobs. Greg held onto the other man as though he were a life preserver. Ironically, he was his life preserver.

Hours later, after all the pressure had been released, the words came freely. The poor lab rat was too exhausted to lie or sugarcoat the truth. He told Grissom everything, from the very first day, the growing darkness inside, the hole in his stomach, the other voice in his throat. He explained the rage and the calm, the ebb and the flow.

Through all this Grissom simply held him, having gotten over his initial trepidations at physical touch. Grissom held him close and nodded at appropriate intervals, letting the extent of Greg's depression wash over him. His story was a grim reminder that something so full of life could quickly lose hope if not cared for properly.

Greg laid it all out on the line, risking everything for another chance at life. (Why not? I've got nothing to lose... Except me.) During their conversation Grissom picked up the tenuous ends of Greg's existence and started bundling them back together into something substantial.

That night found Grissom cradling a sleeping Greg in his arms. While he wasn't 100 recovered, Greg had actually smiled and laughed towards the end of their discussion. Grissom gradually lowered the sleeping boy onto the sofa, extricating himself from the hold he had on him. It was almost time for shift, and Grissom still needed to swing by his place to shower and change clothes. On his way out though...

"Hey," a raspy sleep-filled voice called from behind him. Grissom turned around to find Greg sitting up. "Grissom. Griss. Thank you. Thank you... so much. I needed you and I needed that."

"Greg, just remember. There is no shame in needing. I'll be back after shift. Get some sleep, eat something. You've lost weight."

The boy nodded. "I'll do that." Greg stood up and approached Grissom quickly, the last vestiges of dusk coming through lightly pulled curtains. When he turned, Grissom's breath caught for a moment and he laughed.

"What? What's so funny?" Greg ran a hand through his hair hoping to dispel the bed head he mistakenly thought Grissom found hilarious.

"The light, Greg. The light in your eyes is back, that shine that tells me somebody's home." He paused, clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome back Greg, welcome back."

_Time and time again we fall into the depths of who we are but you can't keep runnin away from what you're trying to find_

THE END

"Everybody needs the light" – Led Zeppelin


End file.
